


Broken Dreams

by AggieGuitarist



Category: Fear Street Series - R. L. Stine
Genre: Basketball, Broken, Cancer, Doctors, Dreams, F/M, Fiction, Health, Hospital, Illness, Nurses, Original Character(s), Pain, Realistic, Recovery, School, Sports, Team, Tryouts, player - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 23:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AggieGuitarist/pseuds/AggieGuitarist
Summary: As an aspiring basketball player from a young age, Emily Miller had always been looking forward to her big day--the day of her first basketball tryouts at her middle school. But when the day came, all her efforts and preparation was gone to waste as her health suddenly deteriorates. Emily feels desperate to do everything she can to fully recover and repair her broken dreams before it's too late...





	1. Prologue

Thick sheets of rain pattered furiously on the windshield, almost obscuring the view in front of us. I leaned forward from the backseat and tried to discern the curvature of the road ahead, but I couldn’t make out anything.

“Mrs. Murphy, I really don’t think it’s safe to drive in this rain,” I said apprehensively. “Even I can barely see out of the windshield.”

Mrs. Murphy was our next door neighbor and a friend of Mom’s. We had known each other ever since we first moved in on Fairfield Lane about a month ago, several hours away from my hometown. She was the only one who readily greeted us upon arrival, unlike the glowering faces and dirty looks our other neighbors gave us. Thanks to the Murphys’ welcoming company, I didn’t feel quite as homesick as I had expected. 

“I know, but we have no other choice,” Mrs. Murphy replied distastefully, squinting to read the road sign that was approaching us. “Who would’ve known the rain would be this bad.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.” _Seriously. What was the weatherman even thinking when he forecasted thirty percent chance of showers?_

I couldn’t blame Mrs. Murphy, though. It just so happened that both my parents had to attend a mandatory annual conference tonight regarding Dad’s new company project. Mrs. Murphy, being the considerate neighbor she was, offered to take me and my four-year-old brother, Jason, to a basketball lesson held at our local gym. So, here we are now, struggling to get home safely through the torrential downpour.

"Emmy--" Jason started to whine.

"It's E-mi-ly," I corrected him, enunciating each syllable. "Get it? You should already know that by now."

“Emm-ily?” he tried again, although his pronunciation was still imprecise. “Are we home yet?”

I sighed. _Of course, he’ll never get my name right._ “No, Jason. We’re still five minutes away from home.”

Out of nowhere, an ear-splitting crack of thunder reverberated around us. Jason flinched in his seat and curled up into a tight ball. That was when I noticed his seatbelt wasn’t buckled. _Oh great, why do I always have to baby him on something as simple as wearing a seatbelt?_

I opened my mouth to remind Jason, but his whimpering cut me off.

“It’s dark and scary outside. I want to see Mommy.” 

Jason scooted closer to me, his face now inches away from mine. His round eyes were consumed with fear, and it felt as if his distress was radiating into me. I knew that feeling all too well. Six years ago, when I was Jason’s age, I remembered hiding in the back corner of my closet for hours just to wait for a thunderstorm to be over. I even ended up falling asleep in there a few times.

“Shh-shh, it’s okay Jason. I know how scared you are...and I am too," I comforted him. “Just hang in there. We'll be home very soon, alright?” 

He nodded his head in acknowledgment. I tore my eyes away from him and focused on the road, seeking for any signs of potential danger. From a distance, I caught a glimpse of a vehicle’s headlights shining in the side-view mirror.

_ That’s weird,_ I thought. _Why hadn’t I noticed another car following us from behind until now? Whoever is driving, I hope he’s not trying to stalk us or anything like that._

Even through the rain droplets that coated the windows, I could clearly see its headlights rapidly glowing brighter, which made it obvious that the driver was actually accelerating. 

_ Why in the world is he driving so fast? Is he crazy?_

“Watch out! He’s going to hit you!” I shouted at Mrs. Murphy as the light engulfed the backside of our car.

It was too late. 

The car’s bumper rammed into the rear end of our car with a loud _clank!_ The next thing I knew, we were skidding uncontrollably over the slick roads.I squeezed my eyes shut and clung onto the headrest, bracing myself for impact while an irrepressible, centrifugal force heaved the rest of my body off my seat. In a desperate attempt to gain control over her car, Mrs. Murphy slammed on the brakes. My mouth gaped, but my screams were drowned out by the squealing tires.

Deafening metallic crunches rumbled from our car as it smashed right into the guardrail...and then...eerie muteness. All I could hear was a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Everything moved in slow motion...windows shattering into a million pieces...our belongings falling towards the front of the car...

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason’s face contorting into a horrified expression as he flew out of his seat and crashed through the windshield. Several seconds elapsed before our car finally jolted to an abrupt stop. 

“Mrs. Murphy,” I felt myself mouthing out, my voice fully muffled by the persisting, uncanny ringing. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, I lurched out of my seat, my right hand groping along the leather surface of the stowage. A sharp, stabbing pain shot up through my arm. As if the pain brought back my senses, my hearing returned.

“Mrs. Murphy, are you hurt?” I faintly heard myself speak in a shrill voice I couldn’t even recognize.

She groaned in response and feebly raised her head from the dashboard. “No, sweetie, I’m fine.”

“Can you move?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.

Mrs. Murphy strained to move her leg from the brake pedal, but it was twisted at an odd angle beneath the crumpled hood of the car. “Aaaaaagh!” I heard her yelp in agony.

“I...can’t! My leg...it’s stuck...and it hurts so much...I think I broke my leg...it’s getting numb...” she replied in between painful gasps. “Can you...check on...Jason?”

I nearly forgot about Jason...until the images started slipping into my mind. 

_ The horrified look on his face... _

_ Flying out of his seat..._

_ Crashing through the windshield... _

Realizing what had just happened, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of my stomach.

_ No, he’s not dead, _I told myself. _He can’t be dead._

Lowering my gaze, I caught sight of something viscous oozing in a puddle around my hand where it had rested on the leather stowage. I lifted my hand and saw large shards of glass jammed deeply into my palm, but I didn't care. I had to find Jason. I had to know if he was still alive.

Opening the passenger door, I dizzily wobbled out of the car. I was immediately greeted with a raging cascade of rain, thoroughly drenching my basketball uniform instantaneously.

The headlights were still on. Tracing the light to where it was shining, my eyes spotted a small figure slumped at the base of a tree, about ten feet away. Chills ran down my spine as I wearily stumbled towards Jason, my heart pounding faster for every step I took. My hands trembled vigorously as they reached for his torso and propped his shoulders against the tree.

There I saw it--the incessant rivers of blood spurting from the side of his head.

An excruciating wave of nausea seized my stomach. I staggered backwards and dry heaved instantly. I swallowed hard, mustering all the strength I could to resist the urge to vomit. After a few minutes of calming my churning stomach, I gingerly touched the side of his cold, clammy neck. No pulse. I hovered my hand over his nose. No breathing.

_ He’s...he’s..._

I couldn’t bring myself to think of that word. His pale, stiff body seemed to have already shouted the truth.

Strangled sobs escaped my mouth as I shakily cradled Jason’s lifeless body against my chest.

_ Why did this have to happen?_ _Why Jason instead of me?_

Suddenly, I felt something dark and tangible boiling inside of me, forcibly clawing its way out. Then a sharp burst of hysterical screech ripped through the air.

“NOOOOOO!”

I knew it was coming from me, but I couldn’t make myself stop.


	2. A Fresh Start

_Present (4/21), 6:45 AM..._

Sharp buzzes pierced through the morning stillness. I jerked awake and turned off my alarm without wasting a second, which was something I rarely did on a typical school day. Usually, a minute would have ticked by before I even had the chance to set my fingers on the snooze button. Then it would have taken me another five minutes before I could clumsily crawl out of bed, eyes half-closed. 

But today wasn't just an ordinary school day. It was the day I've long been waiting for--my first basketball tryouts.

_ Yes! Today’s the big day! _I mentally cheered, feeling a sudden rush of excitement bloom inside my chest. I sprang out of bed with a wide grin plastered on my face and scurried towards the bathroom. I hopped into the shower, turning the hot water on high.

It was already near the end of April, yet the air outside was so frigid that its coldness had somehow seeped through the windows and into my room during the night. For that reason, I always craved hot showers in the morning--well, most of the time.

After stepping out of the shower and drying myself, I quickly donned a large t-shirt along with a thick sweater and baggy jeans. I wiped the condensation off my mirror and scrutinized every inch of my reflection--thick curls of brunette hair that rested on my shoulders complemented with full lips and a pair of deep blue eyes. I pretty much looked like a younger version of Mom. Or, at least, that’s what everyone says whenever I stand next to her.

_ Perfect, _I thought, still smiling. _No need to put on makeup today._

I raced down the stairs, taking it two at a time. 

“Hey, slow down honey!” Mom hollered from the kitchen. “What’s with all the jitters?”

“You don’t know?” I replied as I grabbed my backpack and stuffed it with binders and notebooks. “The basketball tryouts is today!”

“Oh, that’s right! How can I forget about that?” Mom exclaimed, lightly slapping her forehead. “Well, I wish you the best of luck! You deserve to be on the team!”

“Thanks, Mom!” I shouted in reply while hastily tugging on my snow boots.

“Wait, you’re not having breakfast?”

“Not hungry, Mom.” That was sort of true. Sure, my stomach was growling, but I was too excited to eat anything.

I yanked open the front door and took off sprinting onto the sidewalk without even locking the door behind me. As I dashed past the bare trees and quiet houses, a hint of sunlight began to peak over the horizon, emitting a distant, orange glow that gracefully blended into an ocean of pale blue sky. A strong gust of icy wind whipped at my face, stinging my cheeks and making my eyes water. It was almost as if winter would never end, even though the last patches of snow had melted well before spring break.

Despite the blistering chill biting onto my skin, I continued to run nonchalantly since my school was only a few blocks away from home. Besides, I couldn’t wait to meet up with my own circle of friends, as usual. That was one of the perks of being, what one would consider, a “popular” girl.

I was one of the youngest seventh graders at Fairfield Valley Middle School since I just turned twelve a week ago--but don’t underestimate me. According to my friends, I was well known for my exceptional maturity and intelligence, not just for my age, but for everyone in my grade level. 

I was also famed for my looks. Being several inches above average, I had long, slender legs and a slim waist--a body frame that most girls at my school would die for. That was why I stopped changing in the girls' locker room before PE class--at least, starting this year. 

Every time I stepped foot into the locker room, I often got bombarded with covetous stares, furtive whispers, and questions such as _“What’s your secret?”_, or more annoying, _“Do you starve yourself?”_ The answer to that, for sure, was a resounding “no”. My thin, athletic physique was mainly a result of my self-imposed, rigorous training. 

After signing a colossal stack of athletic forms and marking the date on my calendar, I had officially committed to preparing for my first basketball tryouts, which meant four hours of practice a day, minimum. It was nonnegotiable under any circumstances, no matter how dire it was. There was just simply no excuse. That said, it wasn’t uncommon for me to mentally numb the pain, tuning myself to autopilot mode until my brain could no longer distinguish when my muscles screamed for rest or burned like fire from the agonizing fatigue. The result? My parents would find me sprawled on the floor in a sweltering heap of exhaustion and dehydration..._numerous times._ With those occurrences, however, my fervent desire for ameliorating my basketball skills never seemed to diminish one bit. 

One might ask, _“How did you get to this point?”_ Well, obviously, the basketball tryouts was right around the corner. But that wasn't the whole story. It actually all started when Jason passed away in a car accident two years ago...

My thoughts ebbed away as I found myself facing the main entrance of the school building. 

_ Now’s not the time to dwell on your past...focus on the strategies you would use to perfectly execute your basketball drills,_ I reminded myself.

I sucked in a deep breath of cold air and pushed through the double doors, entering the main hallway. My eyes wandered around the hall, searching for the spot where some of my friends would usually hang out before class. There were sparse huddles of students loitering around, some leaning against the array of bright red lockers. I couldn't recognize any of their faces.

_ Guess they’re not waiting here today,_ I thought as I strode past the main hallway and into the next one.

I turned a few corners, took the stairwell, and headed towards the Math department block for my Algebra I class. 

Then a familiar voice caught my attention. “No way!” 

_ Was that...Judy? _

I whirled around, and, sure enough, she was standing several feet away from my math class, jabbering away to her friend, Amber Hessler.

Judy was one of the first friends I met at Fairfield Valley. Less than a week into sixth grade, everyone in my English class had to get into groups of three for a reading assignment. Realizing I was alone, Judy invited me to join her group and introduced me to Amber. What started off as school-related discussions eventually evolved into jokes and other nonsensical conversations between the three of us. That was our main friendship ritual nowadays, to be quite honest.

Even though Judy and Amber weren’t siblings, they looked alike in many ways. They both shared the same dimples when they smiled along with a sprinkle of freckles and vibrant green eyes that stood out against their pale complexions. The only difference was that Judy had straight black hair while Amber had an auburn tint to her majestic frizzles.

“...okay, just let me finish. Anyway, there’s this cute guy--I kind of forgot his name--who recently got kicked out of his varsity soccer team just because he was too lazy to work on his science project and totally flunked that class. Can you believe that?!” Amber continued to ramble jovially. 

“Ouch! If only I could imagine how disappointed he is right now. It must be the best feeling in the world for that klutz,” Judy deadpanned, then tossed her head back and guffawed like a lunatic. Amber joined in.

“I know, right? You should’ve seen the look on his face. Priceless.”

I stayed where I was and silently giggled to myself, enjoying every bit of the endless banters that tumbled frivolously from their mouths. I knew it wouldn't last much longer, though, since I wanted to talk to them before class starts.

Noticing that most students had started clearing out the hallway and disappearing into their classrooms, I clicked on my phone to check the time. Only four minutes left until first period.

_ Maybe I should end their fun right now so they wouldn’t be late to class._

“Hey, peeps!” I interjected. “Peeps” was the nickname I used whenever I wanted to address them both at once.

“Yeah?” they asked in unison. 

"In case you didn’t know, we have a history test over Unit 8," I told them.

"A h-history test...today? Are you kidding me?" Amber spluttered, a dumbstricken expression etched onto her face.

I suppressed a grin that was tugging at my lips. "Oh come on, Amber. Don't tell me you forgot to study...again!" I scolded her.

"Well...not really. Argh, I'm so screwed!” she grumbled, and a string of curse words rolled off her tongue.

"Ooh, looks like we've got a procrastinator here. Poor girl," Judy remarked, her voice saturated with mock sympathy.

"Oh, why don’t you just shut up?" Amber retorted. “It’s not like your commentary is making me feel any better.”

"What? It's not my problem you procrastinated," Judy contended, smirking wryly.

Amber attempted to smack Judy's arm but missed. "Oh yes, it is. You're the only person in this school who sends long email messages, and it always takes me forever to read them. Why don't you start learning how to text, like everyone else?"

"I didn't force you to read them, did I?" 

I sighed. I didn’t see the point in wasting my time to watch them bicker around for the rest of my life.

“Alright, Amber. If this makes you happy, I’ll let you borrow my notes to study during lunch," I offered. 

Amber’s face suddenly lit up as she watched me rummage through my backpack and pull out my social studies binder. Judy uttered a sigh of defeat.

“Here,” I said, handing it to her. 

"Oh gosh, Emily! Thank you so much! You're my lifesaver!" she gushed. 

I felt my face heating up. “Umm, no problem...I guess.”

"Wait, are you sure about this? I thought you have social studies for second period," Judy reminded.

"I mean, I've already studied last night," I fibbed. Of course, I didn’t study at all. In fact, I _never_ studied for anything. How can anyone expect me to study if I had to prioritize my basketball tryouts preparation over school? 

If it wasn’t for my superior intelligence, as mentioned earlier, I probably would’ve failed all my classes by now. Luckily, my report card for this year so far consisted of only two B pluses while the rest were A’s. Not bad, taking into consideration that I entirely relied on my own logic and keen judgement to guess most of my answers correctly. 

In the end, intelligence was the only thing I was truly grateful for, especially when time and energy for basketball practice became relatively scarce among my heavy academic workload.

At a pivotal day in my life, my mind felt nearly invincible...

_ ...or so I thought._


	3. Escalation

I quietly slipped into my seat near the back of the classroom just as the tardy bell rang for first period. Mr. Thigpin stood from his desk and motioned us to quiet down.

“Okay, class. Let’s get settled down,” he announced.

Silence permeated the air as Mr. Thigpin began calling names for attendance, but I could hardly hear anything he was saying. The turbulent thudding of my own heartbeat had drowned out his words before they reached my ears.

_ Stop overthinking! _I scolded myself, trying to quell the unremitting flutter of anxiety amassing in my chest. _You’ve already practiced hard enough, so there’s no reason why you should be worried about the tryouts. Nothing should go wrong--no, nothing will go wrong._

“Emily Miller?”

I raised my hand. “Present.” _Good thing I didn’t miss my name._

My thoughts started racing back, entangling themselves impetuously.

_ Weren't you excited for the tryouts? Did you let your doubts destroy your confidence? If so, work around your weaknesses. First of all, your lead passes. Where, exactly, are you going to pass the ball so that player number two will catch it on his next move? What force, launch angle, and spin? What about timing--between one to two seconds beforehand? Taking all scenarios into account..._

Mr. Thigpin’s voice dispersed my jumbled thoughts. “...turn your textbooks to page two seventy-six. Today, we will be reviewing the steps to factoring trinomials using master product. Any questions so far from last night’s homework?”

_ Pfft, for sure. Like anyone needs to know how to factor quadratic equations to be good at basketball. I mean, really? _

Grudgingly, I slid out the Algebra I textbook from under my chair and plunked it on my desk. It landed with a dull, percussive _thunk. _After flipping to the correct page, I immediately zoned out again, staring blankly at the sentences and equations until they dissolved into muddled lines of black ink.

_ Anyway, back to weaknesses. Your left-handed layups. They're pretty good, but still needs a bit of improvement. Scoring 96% of your layups is not acceptable..._

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I ignored it.

..._so don’t risk it on the tryouts. Whatever you do, approach the hoop at an optimal position for right-handed layups. But what if player two passes the ball to..._

I felt another tap. Harder this time.

Behind me, an obtrusive, hissing voice sliced through my concatenated thoughts. "Don't just keep ignoring me, you wimp."

I whipped my head around. “What?!” I shouted back in a hushed tone.

Needless to say, it was Clara Wright of all people, constantly spewing venomous insults at others whenever she gets the chance. It was her hobby...her _addiction_. 

However, one might be surprised, shocked even, if I confessed that Clara was actually my friend. No, let me rephrase that--_I_ was _her _friend. Why? Who knows. The only explanation I could come up with was her ceaseless friend requests, both online and in person. Maybe it was my appearance or sophisticated persona that lured her to me. Either way, I ultimately succumbed to our “friendship”, even if I secretly hated every minute of it. The obligation to tolerate friendships of any kind was overly compelling, out of fear that I might otherwise ruin my reputation as the “popular” girl--for good.

Consequently, popularity comes with a list of repercussions, and, in my case, unintentionally making enemies was just one to begin with. Confronted by a recurring obstacle right in front of my eyes, it was now up to me to resolve the issue, as always. 

_Bring it on, Clara._ The words threatened to spill out of my mouth, but I clasped it shut.

“Hey kiddo,” she rasped with a malicious grin.

_ I’m not a kid anymore, you spoiled brat! Don’t ever call me that again! _my brain screamed. But externally, my conciliatory expression didn’t budge. _Yes, that's right. Only the calm one wins._

“Spill it, friend,” I demanded softly, accentuating the word “friend”.

“I hope you get cut off from the tryouts. You’re too worthless to even be considered being part of our school basketball team.” I could see determination flickering in Clara’s eyes--determination to outsmart me for once.

_ Well, too bad. That’s never going to happen._

My lips unwillingly stretched into a smug smile. “Thanks a bunch!” I enthused sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “You’re certainly motivating me to try harder.”

“Fair enough...but wait ‘till you make your first mistake. After that, your motivation will go down the drain and so will your pathetic hours of mindless practice,” she spat.

“What do you mean by ‘mindless’?” I hesitated, my mind grasping for more words. _Quick, think of another comeback!_

Then I spoke up again, still barely above a whisper. “So, you’re telling me that figuring out different ways to improve my shooting consistency is considered ‘mindless’ practice? I suppose not. Or maybe you just simply lack the brains to understand the definition of ‘mindless’.” 

When Clara didn’t reply right away, a triumphant smirk crept on my face as I witnessed her silently showering curses at her own stupidity. 

_ Ha! Another victory for me, _my mind gloated.

I subconsciously thanked my precocious maturity for quashing Clara’s insults with my own army of retorts, leaving my ego unscathed. 

***

The bell rudely jarred me awake from what felt like a partial stupor. My head poked up in time to see my fourth period English teacher wave us for dismissal. Chair scrapes resonated throughout the classroom as students eagerly scampered out the door for lunch break.

All morning, my brain had been drifting off to its own private realm of basketball, devising tactics to circumvent my flaws. Anything related to school had no chance of cramming into my preoccupied mind. Even during the ten minutes of rushing through my history test, I was vaguely aware of how many questions I guessed out of forty total. Ten? Fifteen, perhaps? I wasn’t sure at all. Whatever, middle school grades don’t really matter.

_ Vrr...vrr..._

I turned on my vibrating phone and swiped to the home screen. 

_ Notification: 3 new messages._

Realizing that everyone had left the classroom, I quickly packed up my belongings and hurried out into the hallway before opening my messages.

I tapped on the “Messenger” icon and skimmed through them.

_ Eric: hey Emi, it’s me_

_ Eric: I have something important to tell u_

_ Eric: waiting by ur locker right now. Meet me there?_

Smiling to myself, I texted back.

_ Me: Ok, see u there!_

Tucking the phone into my jeans pocket, I took long, perturbed strides towards my locker while cautiously stooping to avoid catching anyone’s attention.

Nearing my locker, I recognized a pair of sneakers waiting right next to it. I stopped several feet away, stealing a glance at Eric’s ruffled, wavy hair to make sure it was him. Then my eyes flicked across the hallway. _Phew._ Everyone seemed too absorbed in their little chatters and gossips to even bother watching us. Clutching my phone in one hand, I kept my eyes locked on a random webpage to make myself look like I wasn’t talking to him. I was pretty sure he was doing the same.

“Hi,” I said, my voice scarcely audible against the background noise.

“Hi, Emily,” Eric replied, just as quietly. 

“So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh, it’s just...umm...good luck on your basketball tryouts.”

I knitted my brows in slight annoyance. “That’s all you had to say? You should’ve just text--”

“N-no, that’s not all. There’s more to what I wanted to tell you.”

“Okay,” I relented. “Go on.”

“Well, it’s just that, you know, when I see you push yourself...to the extremes, I would say...I just--I can’t even believe what you’re capable of. Like ever since you were this little...”

His words seemed to trail off as my face began to flush with a profound feeling of...love? _No, this is ridiculous! You know better than that, _my inner voice rebuked me.

“...and I’m so happy for you,” Eric continued. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

“Thanks, I...really appreciate your commentary. It means a lot.” I cringed at my mundane wording.

“Well, I’m glad to be of help. Good luck, again.”

Beaming at my screen, I thanked him a second time. “Oh, by the way, it starts at around 3:10 PM in the girls’ gym,” I added.

“Girls’ gym? You know, I’m obviously not a girl,” he stated with a bashful tone in his voice.

I scoffed playfully. “What’s so hard about not taking things so seriously? You’ve never changed one bit, haven’t you? Well, to answer your question, everyone’s invited.” 

“Alright. I guess see you then,” Eric responded, his sneakers retreating from my peripheral vision before I had a chance to reply. That was how he always acted whenever he felt embarrassed in any way--always ending our conversation just like that. 

_ Hurry up, would you? _my mind interrupted. _You don’t want to keep your friends waiting at the lunch table, not to mention you still have to change into your gym clothes in the bathroom first._

Before I could reach for my locker, a short-haired girl who looked roughly a year older than me stepped right in front of it. 

I inhaled deeply, making an effort to retain my equanimity. “Excuse me, my locker is behind you, and I need to get my stuff. Could you please step aside, if you don’t mind?” 

She didn’t seem to buy into my request. “Nah-ah, not unless you answer my question first.”

“Fine. What’s your question?”

“Admit it. That guy, Eric, he’s your boyfriend, right?” she cooed, puckering her lips.

I abruptly looked away in disgust. “What...I mean...uh...no, of course not!” I blundered.

_ What are you doing just standing here? Get away from her, fast! _

Without thinking twice, I shoved my left hand between the girl’s thighs and clenched the lock as my other hand frenetically twirled the dial.

“EEEK!” she squalled in protest, attempting to kick away my left arm, but I held my firm grip on the lock. “Get your hands off me, you wretched pervert! Are you out of your mind?!”

_ Come on..._

My fingers spun the dial to the last digit, unlocking it with a final click. In a flash, I wrenched my hand free from her thighs and flung open the locker door, banging it sharply against her legs. She let out another shriek as she stumbled forward, her face ladened with pure consternation. 

Overwhelmed with guilt to utter a word, much less an apology, I grabbed my bag of gym clothes, slammed my locker shut, and scuttled down the hallway towards the nearest bathroom.

And that’s when “it” started. At first, it was just a dull ache in my right temple followed by a peculiar zigzag pattern that floated across my field of vision, as if I was looking through shattered glass. _Oh no, not again..._

Seconds later, the entire right side of my head exploded with pain. 

_ Throbbing stabs against my skull..._

_ Crumbling pressure around my jaw..._

_ Needles prickling behind my eye socket..._

_ The fluorescent lights brightening, the noisy cafeteria amplifying..._

_ Until I could no longer stand any trace of light or sound..._

_ Everything became too bright, too loud..._

I gritted my teeth to keep myself from crying out in extreme agony. At that moment, I knew exactly what was happening to me; it was an unmistakable onset of a migraine attack.

Teetering into the bathroom, the ground suddenly tilted upwards and pitched sideways as I toppled over, striking my right shoulder against the edge of a sink. With the pounding migraine and vertigo intensifying by the second, I helplessly leaned my back against the wall and slid downwards to a crouching position. I hugged my legs closer to my chest, burrowing my head into my arms.

_ So, you're just going to give up now? Just because of a stupid migraine? Idiot._

With fury and desperation flaring up at once, I painfully jerked out of my position and blindly reached into my backpack. I strewed my school supplies all over the bathroom floor until I finally dug out my painkiller prescription. Holding the plastic bottle up to my face, I read the warning label--or at least, tried to with one eye blind: _Adults...recommended dosage...200 milligram...tablets...not exceed...3,200 mg per day. _Screw that. 

Unable to form coherent thoughts, I recklessly dumped out a handful of pills and popped them into my mouth, swallowing them one by one with my own saliva. I knew what I was doing was wrong--but I needed this. I couldn't care less about the health hazards of overdosing, not when all that mattered to me was making the basketball tryouts. 

Little did I know, I have yet to experience the worst.


	4. The Incident

** ** _Think...think...think... _

The word iterated itself in my brain for the past twenty minutes, as if doing so would magically retrieve my thoughts--but to no avail. Miraculously, though, I had somehow managed to throw on my gym clothes, let alone traipse into the cafeteria without inciting suspicion regarding my health. But what’s the point if my migraine had robbed me of my lucidity--my only means of implementing my strategies?

Disheartened at the prospect of failing the basketball tryouts, my palm dug into my forehead as I listlessly nibbled at my sandwich.

“Hey, you okay there?” 

Startled by the voice, I strenuously lifted my head and looked around. Much to my surprise, the lights were distinctly less blinding than they were minutes ago--a sure sign that my medication was starting to take effect, although barely. 

With a sliver of hope ignited in me, my eyes flitted to the faces of my other friends, who were rapt in their own conversations, before resting on Madeleine’s. My visual impairment had subsided enough to decipher her facial features--disheveled, blonde hair that seemed to dangle freely to her waist and thin lips that were neatly glossed with an amaranth hue. Her hazel eyes bored inquisitively into mine.

As though her gaze had willed them back, a stream of unwelcoming thoughts gushed into my mind.

_ Madeleine can’t find out...she’ll do anything to make me go home...who in their right mind wouldn’t be more concerned about their friend’s health over anything else?_

“I’m fine, Maddie. I just accidentally ran into, uh...someone’s locker door and banged my head against it,” I lied absently, trying to think up of a better excuse.

Madeleine furrowed her brows. “Are you sure? You look really pale and...exhausted, for some reason. Did you practice too much yesterday?”

"No...I'm just a bit tired...because...” I floundered as the piercing thrums in my head began to steal my thoughts again.

“You didn’t get enough sleep,” she finished. 

I nodded slowly, careful not to exacerbate my migraine. “Yeah...I was too...excited for the tryouts to fall asleep.”

An awkward silence stretched between the two of us.

“I don’t think it should affect my performance,” I mumbled at last. “I’ll do fine.” 

Madeleine opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it sharply. She regarded me with a tight smile, and something in her eyes told me she wasn’t fully convinced. I couldn’t help but wonder: _What if she was right?_

  


***

_3 months later..._

A long, deep sigh whooshed from my mouth. _This has got to be one of the most boring--and depressing--days of my life,_ I thought to myself, internally rolling my eyes. _Oh well, maybe I should just start another entry in my diary._

After all, I had only filled up a quarter of the journal with my tiny handwriting, and I certainly didn’t want it to go to waste.

Setting the journal on my lap, I opened it to the first page where I had meticulously kept track of all my tally marks. I counted them. There were ninety-one total, including the one from today. 

_ Huh? Has it actually been this long? _

Recovering from my temporary shock, I started to riffle through the lined sheets.

The next few pages were blank. I had purposely left them that way, in case I needed extra pages for recording tally marks. I skipped through several more pages, which were occupied with short, paragraphic entries, until I found a clean page.

Picking up my pen, I scribbled today’s date on the left-hand side of the top line: _“7/21 - Day 91”. _

For the next few minutes, I wistfully pondered over my thoughts, filling my emotional void with memories--ones that have nearly dissipated into oblivion. Then I began writing: 

_ “Ever since the day of my first basketball tryouts, my life has never been the same. It was the day I found out that my dreams were shattered, sinking into a deep pit of despair. It was the day I painstakingly learned to live each moment as if it were my last and to never take anything for granted._

_ Up until this point, I had a decent childhood and a loving family whom I could never ask more from, but nothing seemed to satisfy my boundless ambition to become a professional basketball player. Anything that didn’t contribute to improvements in my basketball techniques was considered useless in my point of view and, therefore, unworthy of appreciation. As if a light switch in my brain flipped on, my former self-centered mindset took a complete turn after my inevitable incident on that fateful day._

_ Even today, I still struggle to accurately recall the events of the basketball tryouts, although I vaguely remember for a fact that it took place after school in the girls’ gym. I assumed the gaping hole in my memory was due to the unconscious blocking out of something that was too traumatic for my mind to bear; however, according to my best friend, Madeleine Johnson, I was wrong. I was so terribly wrong...”_

***

_Present (4/21), 3:12 PM..._

“Hey Emily, are you nervous?” Madeleine asked as she pounded the basketball on the wooden floorboards in a steady, pulsating rhythm.

“Uh, not really,” Emily replied quietly, flashing her a weak grin.

Thinking that Madeleine wasn't looking, Emily turned away and discreetly massaged her right temple.

_ Strange. You seem to be out of it today. Don’t you usually want to give everything your all? I know how badly you want to make our basketball team. Please don’t lie to yourself. I’m fully aware of how much time and effort you’ve spent lately in preparation for the basketball tryouts._

Madeleine reluctantly dismissed those intruding thoughts and, instead, focused on perfecting her drills since it was almost her turn, right after Emily.

Relying on her muscle memory, Madeleine's eyes simultaneously scanned the bleachers above her, searching for Emily's friends. There they were, in the far right corner, waving at her ecstatically and shouting out something that was instantly smothered by other clamorous groups of students.

“Emily! You’re up next!” Coach Simons yelled over the buzzing of the crowded gym. Madeleine's attention whisked back to Emily.

“Good luck!” she whispered behind Emily’s ear as she stepped up to the line to shoot a free-throw. Emily nodded, catching the basketball from Coach Simons.

She dribbled the ball around a few times and held it up to her shoulders, getting ready to make her shot. 

A few seconds passed. Then some more. With the ball still in her hands, Emily swayed slightly, struggling to keep her balance. 

_ Why did you stop, Emily? What’s happening? _Madeleine wondered with a jolt of premonition niggling at the back of her mind. 

Finally, Emily released the ball. It soared through the air and swerved to the right, missing the backboard entirely. Madeleine gaped at Emily, her heart palpitating in trepidation. She could immediately sense that something was off. 

As an avid basketball player who rarely missed a shot, Emily made an airball for the first time.

“Try again,” Coach Simons said calmly, casting Emily an uneasy, sidelong glance. 

Emily’s expression twisted into sheer disquietude as she stumbled towards the basketball, picked it back up, and returned to the line. She gripped the ball into position once again for her second attempt.

Suddenly, the basketball slipped out of Emily’s hands. The ball bounced away, its erratic rhythm echoing throughout the gym. Some of the girls standing in line behind Madeleine directed their attention to Emily as she slowly began scratching her right arm.

Harder. Even harder.

Madeleine froze in utter horror as she continued to stare at Emily, who was now clawing at both arms. The chattering of other students in the gym faded as they all started noticing Emily...until there was a moment of dead silence. Coach Simons was the first to speak up.

“Emily, what are you doing? What’s going on?” she questioned, eyeing Emily skeptically.

“I-I don’t know,” Emily stuttered, panic rising in her voice.

“Look, honey, you don’t seem like yourself today, and I’m very worried about you. If there’s anything you want to tell me, just say it,” she urged.

Emily did not reply. She was too busy digging her fingernails deeper into her arms even though her skin was scratched raw by this point.

Madeleine heard agitated whispers behind her back. No one dared to move--except for her.

She lunged forward, unable to withstand the unbearable tension any longer. “Emily, please say something!" she pleaded.

“Help! I can’t stop itching!” Emily bawled impotently. “Get those insects out of me! They’re all crawling under my skin!”

_ Was this a joke? Was I hearing Emily correctly?_

Madeleine rubbed her eyes and squinted closely at Emily’s arms. There was no sign of insects anywhere. 

_ Is anyone else not seeing anything? Is it just me?_

She glanced at the bleachers and caught a glimpse of mixed reactions from Emily’s friends. Some shook their heads in disbelief while others continued to gawk at Emily with a terrified look on their faces.

Regardless of whether there were insects or not, Madeleine realized that whatever was causing Emily to itch was a serious problem that needed to be addressed promptly. 

“Coach, look!” someone cried out.

Coach Simons let out a choked gasp, her face turning pale. She dashed into the hallway, running to the nearest phone and frantically dialing for the ambulance.

Madeleine swiveled back in time to see Emily tearing her legs, not only because her itch had spread there but also because she could no longer scratch her arms as they were already covered in ghastly red patches. The sight made Madeleine feel sick to her stomach. She doubled over and gagged copiously.

“Someone, help! Those maggots are killing me! GET THEM OUT OF MY BODY!” Emily screamed at the top of her lungs.

Appalled at her sudden outburst, Madeleine tried to make her way to Emily, but her feet were rooted to the ground.

_ What should I do?_ Madeleine’s mind was empty.

Paralyzed with fear, she couldn’t think or move.

It was only a matter of seconds before Emily collapsed onto the floorboards, convulsing violently. Several students scrambled out of the gym, scattering throughout the school in a frenzy and shouting out for help.

To Madeleine’s relief, she could hear the ambulance sirens in the distance. Able to move again, she fumbled in her gym shorts pocket for her phone and punched in Emily’s mom’s phone number. A succession of ringback tones penetrated her ear continuously.

_ Please pick up...please..._

With a faint click, Mrs. Miller’s voice floated from the speaker. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me...Madeleine,” she replied breathlessly.

“Oh, hi Madeleine. Is something up?”

“Yes, something terrible happened to Emily. I’m not sure what’s going on with her...” Madeleine’s voice cracked as she began sobbing uncontrollably. “I-I think she’s having a...medical emergency.”

There was a long pause, as if Mrs. Miller too had heard the ambulance sirens which had increased to an ear-piercing wail.

“Oh my lord, what happened?!” Mrs. Miller squawked, her shallow breaths clearly audible. “Emily’s not dying...is she?”

Madeleine saw the doors burst open as a team of paramedics entered the gym with a stretcher.

_ No! Emily is not going to die! They’re going to save her...they have to--_

Mrs. Miller’s discordant voice halted Madeleine’s thoughts. "Are you still there?” 

"Yeah,” Madeleine answered as calmly as she could. “She was having seizures. They’re taking her to the hospital now."

Another pause, followed by some sniffing and ragged breathing.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Mrs. Miller muttered numbly.

“No problem, Mrs. Miller.”

Madeleine hung up and rushed towards Emily, who was fastened onto the stretcher and being transported towards the backside of the ambulance. She laid her hand on Emily’s chest and peered into her eyes. They were wide open, but her gaze was vacant, fixated on the ceiling.

“Emily, I’m here. Can you hear me?” Madeleine asked in a quivering voice. 

One of the paramedics spun around, glaring at her. “She’s unconscious. We need to transfer her to the ER as soon as possible, so if I were you, I would back off,” he reprimanded Madeleine as the others hefted the stretcher into the trunk.

Feeling stunned and defeated, Madeleine stood outside and watched the ambulance speed away, completely unaware that this was only the beginning.


	5. In a Haze

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _Monotonous beeps flooded my ears, rousing me from what felt like a deep sleep. 

A wisp of thought emerged from my subconsciousness. _Where are those sounds coming from? _

My eyelids felt heavy as I struggled to open them. Harsh beams of white light blinded my eyes, blurring my vision. Then a barely recognizable face floated in front of me. I tried scanning around the room to check if anyone else was here with me, but I was too weak to move my head.

“Hey, Emily’s awake!” I heard a muffled voice call out.

“Really? Oh my darling!” another voice piped as a second face appeared on the opposite side of the first one. “Thank god you’re alright!”

My vision gradually sharpened until I could finally identify both faces.

“Mom? Madeleine?” I croaked, my voice hoarse from sleep.

Mom sniffled, then drew in a deep, tremulous breath. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure. I just feel a bit...tired,” I answered dully. 

Looking up at Mom, I noticed that her eyes were bloodshot from crying profusely. 

_ Did something happen to me? Why are you so upset?_ I strained to remember where I’d last been. One minute, I was in the girls’ gym, and the next, I was here. _How did I get here? Did I somehow...black out in between?_

_ Something must’ve gone horribly wrong with me,_ I concluded, feeling a sudden pang of anxiety surge through my body.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Where am I?” I asked nervously.

She shook her head, and her eyes started glistening with tears. “You’re at Silvercrest Hospital right now. You have no idea what happened, do you?”

“Huh?” I gasped, unsure if I heard her correctly. “What did you just say?”

“You were taken to the emergency room an hour ago since you were having seizures. You almost...died,” Mom choked out, bursting into tears.

“No, no, no,” I moaned. “This can’t be happening to me.”

I turned towards Madeleine, who nodded hesitantly. 

“I saw w-what happened to you,” Madeleine stammered. “Everything.”

I was still reluctant to accept reality, so I decided to see for myself. Using all my strength, I pivoted my head towards the right and saw that I was hooked up to a large machine where the beeps originated from. Its screen displayed rows of erratic lines swimming to their corresponding numbers.

_Some kind of...heart monitor? Doesn’t that mean... _

Forcing myself to pretermit my assumptions, I continued to inspect my surroundings.

Next to the machine, there were bags of fluid, their thin tubes sending clear liquid into the veins of my right arm through an lV needle. I arduously lifted my head and looked downwards. My limbs were covered in deep scratch marks.

“Who did this to me?” I asked, attempting to move my arms. I winced in pain. _So, I'm not dreaming after all. Everything they said...it was all true._

Despite the harrowing realization, I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to hear.

“You,” Madeleine replied, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “You scratched yourself.”

Her words were sharp like daggers, their stabbing sensations forcing my lips to part. “What?! Why would I hurt myself?!”

“It’s really difficult to explain, but this is what I remembered based on what Dr. Lowry told me,” Madeleine began. “He said that you were suffering from tactile hallucination--”

“What are you saying? This isn’t making any sense,” I interrupted her mid-sentence.

“I know. I found it hard at first to believe it myself. Anyway,” Madeleine continued, “he explained to me that this form of hallucination causes someone to feel as if there are bugs crawling under the skin which, in turn, leads to itching. He also added that you suffered from a severe bout of seizures shortly afterwards.”

“I still don’t get it,” I sighed, feeling a twinge of perplexity zap through my head in all directions. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t understand why I’m not remembering all that’s happened to me.”

Madeleine shrugged. “Beats me. I think Dr. Lowry will have the answer by tomorrow afternoon since he has scheduled an MRI screening of your brain first thing in the morning. He just wants to assess whether or not these symptoms are consistent with any abnormalities in your brain.”

I tried to let everything sink in, but my mind was too sluggish to process the overwhelming stream of information. “What for?” was all I managed to ask.

“Well. You know, to accurately diagnose you and give you the correct treatment.”

“Right,” I agreed, “but how much longer will I be staying in the hospital?”

“Dr. Lowry told me just a couple more days if the results of your MRI and blood tests are clear,” Mom spoke up, who had been intently listening to us the entire time.

"I hope so," I replied dubiously. 

"Everything is going to be okay, sweetie," Mom reassured, holding my hand in hers.

"Where's Dad?" I questioned, trying to change the subject.

“He’s coming soon.”

“Isn’t he still at work?” 

“The thing is, he got a call from the hospital, notifying him that you were in critical health condition,” she explained, “so his company let him leave work early to go see you.”

“You didn’t call him?”

“No,” Mom replied. “I figured I shouldn't be calling him until later, in case the news would keep him from concentrating on his job. But I guess it’s too late now.”

As Mom finished her sentence, the door flung open. Dad walked in grim-faced and breathless. “Where’s our little princess? Is she okay now?”

I waved at him weakly. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad shambled towards the left side of my bed and reached out his arms. I returned him a soft hug, ignoring the searing pain on my arms.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Dad breathed. “I was so worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” I told him. “Hopefully, all goes well with my MRI screening tomorrow morning.”

Dad nodded, his eyes glinting with incertitude. “Hopefully.”

***

“Are you sure it’s not going to hurt?” I asked as I laid myself on a long, narrow table.

“No, the MRI scanning should be painless,” Dr. Lowry replied, typing away on the keyboard. “It should take approximately thirty to forty-five minutes.”

“Alright, I guess I’m ready.”

“Good. Let's get started then."

The machine uttered a sharp, low-pitched whirring noise as the table shifted backwards, headfirst into the cylindrical opening. 

“Now, hold still and breathe slowly,” Dr. Lowry instructed.

I did as I was told.

My ears picked up occasional banging sounds coming from within the tunnel-like machine. Other than that, the room seemed still and rather...serene. I gently closed my eyes, descending into a deep daydream...

_ ...I found myself standing on an empty, indoor basketball court, dribbling the basketball between my feet. Then, I held the ball up to my shoulders, aiming it at the basket to shoot a two-pointer. I launched the ball with confidence as it headed straight for the hoop._

_ My heart dropped._

_ The basketball grazed the outer rim, brushing against the net and bouncing off the lower end of the backboard._

_ “I must’ve stood too far from the basket,” I thought, taking a few steps forward._

_ I tried again. And I missed a second time._

_ I kept repeating the same process, increasingly frustrated for every shot I missed no matter how hard I tried to throw the ball._

_ “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I play basketball anymore?”_

_ With the ball in my hands, I walked briskly towards the basket...and realized that I wasn’t getting anywhere near it. I started jogging. _

_ Faster. _

_ I was soon running at full speed. To my horror, the basketball court elongated, the faster I ran. I hopelessly stared ahead as the basket began to vanish into the distance..._

“Okay, you’re good to go,” a man’s voice suddenly broke my daydream.

I snapped back to reality. “Huh?”

“You’re done,” Dr. Lowry repeated.

“Oh, right,” I replied, laughing awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll have your results ready by around three in the afternoon at the latest.”

I bobbed my head slightly, then waved bye at him and slowly made my way back to my room.

***

For the millionth time, I looked at the clock across from my bed. It was already 3:45 PM. I was growing more impatient by the second, and the constant ticking noises weren’t helping much.

_ How much longer are you going to take, Dr. Lowry? Didn’t you say the results would be out by 3 PM?_

My thoughts were curtly interrupted by a sudden knocking on the door. Mom settled her magazine on a table and stood up.

_ This must be Dr. Lowry,_ I thought as Mom opened the door.

It was Madeleine. 

“Hey, Emily! I just thought I’d come by to see how you’re doing,” she chirped, carrying a heavy bundle of papers in her arms. “I’ve got something for you.”

I sat up straight, grunting in pain while my legs rubbed against the mattress.

I forced a smile back at her. “What have you got for me?”

“Well, I’ve got you a copy of my class notes since you might need them to study for some make-up tests when you get back to school.”

“Aww, thanks so much! You’re the best.”

Madeleine chuckled warmly. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yeah,” I concurred with a chortle as she ambled towards me. She handed me the packet which included notes from every class subject.

_ How did you make time to scan all your class notes? Don’t you usually have a busy schedule with all your clubs and extracurriculars?_

“Wow,” I murmured, shaking my head. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Nah, it’s nothing.” 

Madeleine turned around and gathered her belongings, preparing to leave. She paused. “Oh, before I forget, I have something else for you.”

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a journal, decorated with an elaborate, flowery design on its front cover, and a pen. She placed them on top of the notes packet.

“What is it for?” I asked.

“Well, in case you get bored or something,” Madeleine answered cheerily. “It would make a nice outlet for expressing your thoughts and feelings. Or just simply for sketching.”

I felt my lips twitching up into another smile--a genuine one this time. “Thanks, again.”

“Thank you for bringing these to Emily,” Mom chimed in, looking up from her magazine. “We really appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“No problem.” 

Madeleine glanced ephemerally at her watch. “Oh, I’d better get going before I’m late to my piano lesson. See you tomorrow, Emily!”

“Bye!” I called as she hurried out the door. 

Within a few minutes of talking to Madeleine, I had completely forgotten about Dr. Lowry--not that I could help it anyway. I was already cognizant of the fact that I’ve become progressively forgetful lately. Come to think of it, the frequency of my amnesia seemingly coincided with that of my migraines...

Attempting to brush off the unsettling revelation, I skimmed through the first two pages of Madeleine’s neatly hand-written notes. But all I saw were mere letters; it was obvious that the words refused to register in my brain.

_ Not now,_ I decided, sighing in resignation. _I’ll just study later. _

I set the packet aside and picked up the journal. I delicately flipped the front cover over to the first clean page. With the pen, I wrote _“4/21”_ near the top-left corner of the page. 

That was yesterday. Right underneath the date, I drew a tally mark. Then I drew another one for today.

I stared at the date again. Besides the first day of falling ill, I knew there was something else special about that date, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. I remembered seeing “4/21” printed on multiple flyers at school a few weeks ago, its bolded text catching my attention repeatedly. I even marked it on my calendar at home.

Before I could think any further, I heard the door open. 

I perked up. 

This time, it was Dr. Lowry. He was holding a clipboard, closely examining the papers that were attached to it. 

“Mrs. Miller,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yes, Dr. Lowry. What’s the matter?” Mom inquired.

“I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”


	6. Diagnosis

I held my breath. My heart thumped harder against my chest. A vile, sickening dread began to gnaw away my insides.

“What is it?” I found myself blurting out.

“Well, your MRI results are in, and we need to discuss them now. There’s no easy way for me to tell you this,” Dr. Lowry started, looking down at the clipboard again, “but the scan has, in fact, detected a malignant mass situated in your right cerebral hemisphere, mostly confined within the temporal lobe area.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom demanded sharply, struggling to remain calm.

“In short, this means that your daughter has glioblastoma, an aggressively fast-growing grade four brain cancer. Her prognosis indicates a life expectancy of twelve to eighteen months, maybe even longer if she’s lucky,” he elucidated solemnly.

A choked gasp escaped my throat. I was utterly speechless.

“Oh my...” Mom squeaked out, clamping a hand over her mouth. 

A prolonged, dour silence swept over us. It felt like an eternity to me.

Dr. Lowry finally spoke up, avoiding all eye contact.

“I wish we could’ve detected this sooner, especially while her brain cancer was in its earliest stage. She could have possibly been saved.” He paused momentarily before looking up, his grave expression meeting my eyes. “I'm really sorry to have to tell you this, but, to be completely honest with you, there is no cure for it--not at this stage.”

I still couldn’t speak. All I could do was listen to my brain screaming at me: _You’re dying!_

My vision blurred as I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t bother raising my arm to wipe them away--that was the least of my worries.

I glanced over at Mom. Her dry eyes held no emotion. It was a look I’ve never seen on her face before.

“Is there anything you can do to keep my daughter alive longer?” Mom asked, her voice devoid of warmth.

“I will certainly provide Emily with higher levels of medical treatment, as needed, but I cannot guarantee anything,” Dr. Lowry answered.

“And how will it be done?” 

“For Emily’s treatment plan, we will have her undergo radiation followed by several rounds of chemotherapy for the next six months. But prior to that, she will need surgery to have as much of the tumour removed as possible in order to maximize the efficacy of chemoradiation.” 

At the sound of “surgery”, something in me suddenly clicked, unleashing a fierce torrent of fear through my body.

“Noooo!” I wailed before I even realized it. “You can’t do this to me!”

“This is a doctor's order,” Dr. Lowry replied sternly.

“I don’t want surgery! That’s the last thing I want! Please, don’t cut my head open!” I protested, forcefully clutching my temples with both hands.

“Emily, that’s enough,” Mom snapped, her cold stare burning menacingly into my eyes.

I shuddered. As if her stone-faced presence was enough to crush my sanity, I immediately shut myself up. 

“Alright, then. I’ll arrange a consult with one of our surgeons and schedule your surgery sometime tomorrow, depending on when the next space is available. Now listen,” Dr. Lowry warned, shooting me a wary glance, “this surgical procedure cannot be delayed; otherwise, it will be nearly impossible to operate on the tumour once it metastasizes to other parts of your brain. Do you understand?” 

I laggardly nodded. I didn’t dare open my mouth to protest any further. At this point, I knew I had no other choice because, deep down in my heart, I wanted to fight for my life. 

***

_1 day ago (4/21), 4:13 PM..._

Madeleine darted aimlessly around the hallway on the second floor of Silvercrest Hospital, desperate to find Emily. She had already checked in all the rooms downstairs. No sign of Emily. 

She peeked in the first room upstairs. Then another.

Still, no sign of Emily.

Madeleine was certain she was at the right hospital since Mrs. Miller had called her back several minutes after the ambulance left. She had told Madeleine that she received a call from Silvercrest Hospital regarding Emily’s health condition and that she needed to go meet her there.

As Madeleine turned back to look in the next room, she bumped into a doctor who was walking briskly down the hallway. He let out a startled cry. 

“Whoa there, young lady. Please watch where you’re going,” the doctor chided softly without slowing down his pace.

Madeleine swung around. 

“Hey, excuse me sir!” she called out, waving her hand at him. “Do you have any idea where Emily is?”

The doctor stopped and turned to face Madeleine. She caught up to him.

“Did you just say ‘Emily’?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Uh, yeah. Emily Miller. Could you tell me where she is?” 

“You know her?”

“Yeah. I’m her best friend, Madeleine.”

“Hi Madeleine, nice to meet you,” the doctor replied, then stuck his hand out to her. "I’m Dr. Lowry by the way, Emily’s primary working physician.”

She returned his hand shake. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Can you come with me for a second?” 

“Uh, sure,” Madeleine answered tentatively. “Could you be quick though? I really have to see Emily.” 

“I’ll tell you where she is later. But right now, I need to talk to you,” Dr. Lowry insisted, gesturing Madeleine to follow him. 

_ Oh no, what did I do wrong? Was it because I snuck into the hospital when I actually wasn't supposed to? _

She hoped that wasn't the case, and a worried frown crossed her face. Dr. Lowry noticed.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I just need to ask you a few questions. And then you can go see Emily,” he assured as Madeleine quietly trailed behind him.

Dr. Lowry and Madeleine reached the end of the dimly lit hallway and rounded the next corner. Then they took an elevator up to the fifth floor. This time, the halls only comprised of glass windows on one side and an empty wall on the other. Scintillating rays of sunlight poured into the hallway, illuminating the dark, gloomy space. They continued to walk for another minute or so until a tall, wooden door came into view. 

“This is my office,” Dr. Lowry mentioned as he unlocked the door with a key he wore around his neck. He opened the door and signaled her to go in.

The fresh scent of oak wood wafted into Madeleine’s nose. She glanced around Dr. Lowry’s office and was surprised to find thick stacks of papers and folders scattered all over the floor. She weaved her way towards his desk, narrowly dodging all the towering piles through the cramped space.

“Sorry about this mess,” Dr. Lowry apologized. “I’ve been too busy lately to organize my paperwork and patient records.”

“It’s fine,” Madeleine replied, fidgeting with her phone in her gym shorts pocket.

_ Should I text Mrs. Miller to let her know I'm going to be late, and ask her how Emily is doing now?_ Madeleine wondered. She was very tempted to take out her phone.

“Here, have a seat,” he said, pushing a bench closer to his desk.

Madeleine took her seat. 

Dr. Lowry settled down in his office chair across from her and began shuffling through his file cabinet. He pulled out a folder with a tab labeled “Miller, Emily”.

_ This is probably Emily’s medical records, _Madeleine thought.

“Since you are best friends with Emily, I assume the two of you came from the same school, right?” Dr. Lowry interrogated as he carefully thumbed through the papers in Emily’s folder.

“Yeah,” Madeleine confirmed. She watched him take out a blank, lined sheet from the folder and grab a pen that was sitting on the nearest paper stack.

“And I’m sure you’ve witnessed everything that happened to Emily, which is why you came here in the first place. Is that correct?”

She nodded her head.

“Okay,” Dr. Lowry mumbled, thinking hard. “So, can you tell me exactly what happened to Emily, if that’s alright with you?” 

Madeleine took a deep breath. “Sure.”

She began to tell Dr. Lowry all about the incident.

***

_Present (4/23), 3:51 PM..._

Lifting up my hospital gown, I thrust my hand into my gym shorts pocket and extricated my phone. 

It has been two days since I last checked my messages--definitely a first for me, considering that I regularly respond to my quotidian social media influx. 

I powered on my phone and saw that I had thirty-four new messages. Of course, that was to be expected, although I was palpably not in the mood to read any of them...

“Sorry if I’m a bit late today...I had to run some errands after school,” Madeleine gasped, catching her breath.

_ Huh? How did I not notice Madeleine running into my room? _

“Oh, that’s fine. I understand you’re busy,” I answered without looking up from my phone--an attempt to conceal my saturnine mood. 

_ Don’t lose your composure,_ a voice at the back of my head warned.

“Where’s your mom?” she asked, cocking her head to see my face.

“She’s out shopping right now. She’ll probably be back in thirty minutes,” I replied with a straight face, even though my voice started to quaver slightly.

_ Act normal, act normal, act normal,_ the voice berated me. _Pretend you’re not having surgery today. Pretend that today is normal, just like any other day._

But how can I? Especially when I’m practically forced to face my tomophobia--fear of surgery--which I’ve kept bottled up for so many years. Especially when my life is at stake.

“So, did you study yet?” Madeleine’s voice invaded my inner panic.

“Not yet.”

“Why not? You know, you’re gonna have to make up four tests when you go back to school next week, right?” she reminded me, a jocose grin spreading across her face.

_ Should I tell her? _I contemplated. _It’s too late anyway. I have to tell her the truth._

“No, I won’t be going back to school anytime soon,” I muttered dolefully as I choked back tears. _Don't you dare cry. _

I took several deep breaths and kept my eyes glued to the screen to distract myself.

“Wait, why? Hey--” Madeleine began, then hesitated for a moment. Her smile waned. “Is everything alright?”

As soon as I felt my throat constricting, I realized I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears pricked at the edges of my eyes, and before I knew it, they splattered onto my phone. Unbridled sobs began to wrack my body. 

_ Stop crying, you idiot! Get yourself together, or you’re going to be seen as a weakling, not a popular girl!_ But I was impuissant to restrain the tears that were now cascading down my face.

“It...it’s just that I h-have...brain cancer," I sobbed, "...and I-I have to g-get it...surgically removed to-today."

Madeleine's eyes widened in shock. She stayed silent for the next few seconds, not knowing what to say.

“Oh...th-that’s so unfortunate,” she stuttered at last. “I’m terribly sorry."

Before I could reply, I felt her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders. The warmth of her chest felt soothing against my tear-soaked face, draining out my anxiety and sadness. After a few minutes of embracing me, I finally calmed down a bit.

“Thanks,” I managed to mumble a short reply through my unsteady breathing. 

Wiping away my tears, I gazed up at Madeleine's face. Her forehead was deeply creased with wrinkles, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of sorrow in her eyes.

“It really pains me to watch you suffer like this. No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you whenever you need me. I promise,” Madeleine vowed, tenderly rubbing my back. 

Without warning, I felt sleepy.

_ I must be tired from all the crying, _I reasoned, trying to subdue that uneasy feeling. _Maybe it’s just some kind of mental fatigue?_

But no--it was an overpowering drowsiness washing over me, a force I had no control over. I fought hard to stay awake, but my attempts were futile as my eyelids started drooping.

“What’s going on--” 

I didn’t finish my sentence before I suddenly fainted right into Madeleine's arms.


	7. Numbing Pain

** _ ***Potential Trigger Warning***  _ **

** _ The scene near the end of this chapter may be a bit disturbing, but there's no graphic content involved. View at your own discretion. _ **

* * *

“Emily?” Her torso remained limp in Madeleine’s arms. “Emily?” she called out again. Emily didn’t stir.

“Emily, wake up!” Madeleine shouted in her ear, nudging her firmly. 

Still, Emily showed no signs of life, other than her chest undulating steadily.

_ Well, since you’re not waking up, maybe I should just let you rest. After all, you’ve been through a lot for the past two days...I can’t even imagine the pain you’re feeling. Having to face your worst fear, having to deal with your diagnosis..._

A familiar lump formed in Madeleine’s throat, but she forced it back down. _No, not now...not here._

As Madeleine carefully planted Emily’s back on the mattress, the beeps emanating from her heart monitor began to drop to an unsettlingly slow tempo. Madeleine’s breathing hitched. She realized that Emily didn’t just fall asleep. Staring at the pulse readings, they were her first inklings that something was amiss: _54...51...47...45...42 bpm._

Fear imbued Madeleine’s chest, rendering her temporarily immobile. Beads of cold sweat trickled down her back.

_ What if...what if Emily was..._

Madeleine didn’t want to think about it. Surmising possibilities would only inflame the pall of presentiment that had started brewing in her mind. 

Fortunately, she was saved by the bell when she heard a faint creaking sound at the doorway. She looked up to see Dr. Lowry enter the room followed by a petite nurse wearing an oversized, white lab coat. She sported a mask that covered her mouth and nose. Her sheeny, ebony hair was tidily pushed back into a tight bun. 

A timorous voice burst from Madeleine’s throat, “Dr. Lowry, what’s happening to Emily?” 

“Don’t worry about her. She’s fine,” Dr. Lowry replied calmly.

Madeleine threw him a bewildered look. “But...but...” she sputtered.

“I’ll explain later,” he said hurriedly, turning to face the nurse. 

“May I just confirm her patient identification?” she queried stoically.

“Emily Miller, MRN 2243915. 4 PM time slot,” he informed, lowering his voice. “You can take her to the operating room now.”

“Will do, sir,” she responded with a compliant nod.

Madeleine was still at a loss for words as the nurse ushered several surgeons into the room. They transferred Emily onto a gurney and wheeled her out the door.

"Wh-what did you d-do to Emily?” Madeleine faltered, her brows arched in stupefaction.

Dr. Lowry turned back to Madeleine. “I’ve sedated her, so she’s currently in a state of complete unconsciousness. It’s required for all major operations.”

“But...how did you--”

“The sedative was administered intravenously. You know, by injecting a concentrated dosage into her IV.”

“Oh...I see,” Madeleine acknowledged, then remembered something else she wanted to ask. “Umm, who was that nurse you were talking to?”

“You mean, Dr. Winston? Well, she’s a surgical nurse. Simply put, she's responsible for ensuring that all aspects of the operation run smoothly, including post-surgical care.”

“Post-surgical care? Does that mean...I won’t be able to see Emily for the next few days?” Madeleine choked up on the last few words.

"It's likely, depending on how long--” 

Their converse was abruptly cut off by a static hum from Dr. Lowry’s walkie-talkie. _“Dr. Lowry, please report to Room 306. I repeat, Room 306."_

“Sorry, I’m going to leave now. If you have any more questions, please feel free to contact one of our staff on site, and they’ll be happy to help you," Dr. Lowry advised.

Madeleine nodded silently, her chest aching with poignancy. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears as she watched Dr. Lowry swiftly exit the room.

***

_ Free falling..._

That was the only sensation I could feel, alongside the continual current of warm air galling against my skin.

_ When is this going to end? _The thought wriggled into my mind as I continued to plunge deeper into the dark abyss.

Several more seconds passed...

...until my whole body jarred fiercely against a hard surface, knocking the breath out of me. Instinctively, I steeled myself for the fulminant pain...but none came.

_ How did it not hurt? Shouldn’t I have been dead already after falling from such a height? I must be dreaming, right?_

Cracking my eyes open, shafts of light irrupted into them instantly. What I saw next confirmed my conjecture--that I was indeed dreaming. Instead of the white interior of a hospital room, I was surrounded by a cerulean vastitude. Shifting onto my side, I quickly realized that I was lying in...grass?

_ What is this place? _

I jolted upright. Skewing my torso leftwards, something caught my eyes.

It was a basketball court.

In the middle of the court, a vivid orange sphere awaited my presence. As if the basketball was a magnet, I started gravitating towards it even though my brain objected.

_ What if I’ll miss all shooting attempts, just like I did in my daydream? But then, why do I feel so...attracted to it? What does it want from me?_

Reaching the midcourt line, my hands subliminally picked up the basketball.

It felt heavy in my arms. It felt rubbery and grainy. It felt _real._

_ It’s only a dream, _my mind reminded, _so you might as well give it a try. Besides, shooting slumps in your dreams--and daydreams--doesn’t mean they’re going to become a reality._

I took a few steps forward, positioning myself at the free-throw line. 

Just as I hoisted the ball over my shoulder, my eyesight morphed into tunnel vision as a wave of dizziness began overriding my senses. Then I felt my body wobbling in every direction.

_ Ugh! Come on, focus!_

But my eyes refused to do so. Out of vexation, I lobbed it at the hoop, my vision vaguely perceiving the ball veer to the right. There was an absence of sound--not even a _clonk_ from the basketball’s rebound.

_ That’s...impossible. I’ve never made an airball before...no, this can’t be real..._

Overcome with incredulity, I proceeded towards the basketball with a vertiginous gait, scooped it up, and staggered back to the line. 

It was when I raised the ball up to my shoulders again that a sudden tingling sensation disseminated throughout my right arm.

Without realizing it, I had dropped the basketball...

...and that was the last thing I remembered before waking up.

***

_9 hours ago (4/23), 4:06 PM..._

Madeleine sprinted as fast as she possibly could, sneakers thudding rapidly against the concrete. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to go home and be alone in her room. She could already feel the emotions filling her chest to the brim, ready to spill at any second.

_"__It...it’s just that I h-have...brain cancer..."_

_ "...take her to the operating room..."_

_ "..._ _I won’t be able to see Emily for the next few days?"_

_ "It's likely..."_

Those words replayed in her head as she pelted past the buildings and offices, foggy breaths billowing from her mouth with every exhalation. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she repressed them. 

_ You’re almost there. Only three blocks left._

She pushed her sore legs even harder, longing to feel the rush of endorphins that would have normally flooded her system during any workout. Except, it wasn’t there this time; it was replaced by intense melancholy.

After what seemed like hours of running, Madeleine finally entered her neighborhood and, within seconds, arrived at her two-story residence near the end of Clover Avenue. There were no cars parked in her driveway, which meant that her parents were still at work.

Careening onto her front porch, Madeleine's fingers fiddled with the keys, so much so that it took her several tries to unlock the door. She barged into the foyer while doffing her sneakers and clambered up the stairs towards her room. 

Upon reaching the doorway, Madeleine crumpled to the floor, knees hitting the carpet as she dissolved into tears. Her larynx ejected wrenching sobs, ricocheting off the walls of her room for the next thirty minutes. But that wasn’t enough to impede her heart from shredding into a million pieces.

_ Emily..._

_ My one and only friend..._

_ What will I do if I lose you?_

_ Will my life become...meaningless?_

Madeleine scrabbled towards her bed and seized her pillow, encapsulating it around her head to deaden her blood-curdling screams.

Screams of _dejection, despondency, desolation, tristfulness..._

_ All mingled into one._

***

Madeleine woke with a start when she heard the front door slam accompanied by a distinct jangling of keys. She found herself sprawled at an awkward position on the carpet, head deeply buried into her pillow. 

A taut voice resounded from downstairs, almost making her flinch. “Madeleine? Why aren’t you practicing piano?”

_ Crap. Mom’s home._

Madeleine could hear her footsteps tramping up the stairs.

“Don’t you know you have a piano competition in less than two weeks?!” Mrs. Johnson vociferated. “Get your lazy butt down here this instant!”

_ Shoot, she’s going to kill me. Hurry, hide! _

Blearily glancing around, she spotted her ensuite bathroom door that was ajar. Madeleine skulked into her bathroom and locked herself in right as the door to her bedroom banged open.

“Madeleine! Go practice! Now!”

“S-sorry, Mom. I’m, uh...using the restroom right now. I...I’m not feeling too well,” Madeleine lied. Which wasn’t exactly a lie since she felt completely drained of energy...somehow. “I’ll go right back to practice when I’m done, okay?”

Mrs. Johnson sighed peevishly. “Fine. But don’t take too long. There’s no time to waste, you hear me?”

She gulped. “Yes, Mom.” 

Madeleine waited until her mom’s footsteps receded from her room before looking in the mirror. Unexpectedly, the face staring back at her was marred with smudges of mascara around its glossy eyes, some of which marked rivulets where the tears had previously been. 

_ Damn it...why do I look so horrible?_

Then, she remembered everything. 

_ Emily’s diagnosis. Her brain surgery. Not knowing if she’ll make it out alive._

Madeleine saw the face in her reflection scrunching up into a grimace as she felt a strong urge to cry--but she couldn’t. There were no more tears left in her, yet the sadness was tormenting her mind.

_ I...can’t. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to feel..._

With those thoughts, an idea surfaced in Madeleine’s mind--an egregious idea. 

_ ...I don’t want to feel the sadness anymore. But I want to feel something else that will numb it...something else that will numb it..._

The words lingered in her ears, threatening to cloud her conscience.

_ Don’t do it,_ her inner voice warned.

_ But...I have to, _she mentally countered. _I’m hurting so much._

_ You’re going to regret your decision. You’re going to relapse and end up in the psychiatric unit again. Is that what you want? _

_ Please...just once, _Madeleine begged, _and I’ll never do it again._

_ You always say that, but that’s not how it works, _the voice pointed out.

As much as she didn’t want to believe it, Madeleine knew that was true. She had always known that. Once she starts, she could never stop herself...just like now.

Enveloped in a trance, Madeleine’s hands impulsively scoured each drawer, searching for something. Something that would ease her suffering.

She looked in the bottom drawer, and there it rested amidst a heap of socks, the bathroom lights gleaming off of its surface. Exactly what she needed.

Madeleine stripped her clothes except for her bra and underwear. Then her fingers curled around the small, shiny object, taking it out of the drawer and placing its edge atop her left thigh. 

For a fleeting moment, dubiety crept in her nerves. 

_ Should I really do this?_

When her conscience didn’t respond, she knew the answer very well.


	8. Revelations

_Present (4/24), 1:14 AM..._

My eyes fluttered open to some fluorescent lights glaring from the ceiling. A spate of asynchronous bleeps, varying in duration and frequency, grated my eardrums. With my shoulder blades sinking meagerly into the mattress, I could sense that I was lying in a somewhat upright position. I groggily scanned the room through my slight double vision, then a tinge of panic began to attack my nerves.

_ Wait a minute, what room is this? What’s making those sounds? _

I tried tilting my torso to get a better view, but I felt a hand pinning me down.

“Try not to move, or your stitches will come apart,” a feminine voice resonated into my ears.

_Huh? What is she saying? Why am I here? Where’s Mom?_ _What happened to me? _Those questions barreled at me relentlessly. _I don’t understand what’s going on...nothing makes sense at all._

Her face floated into my line of sight.

“Where...am I?” The words clumsily fell out of my mouth, nearly incoherent. _Ugh, why is it so hard to move my jaws?_

The woman inclined her head as if she understood me. “You’re in the neuroscience intensive care unit."

My lips contorted, fighting against the stiffness in my right jaw. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Winston. I'll be looking after you, making sure your vitals are stabilized before we can transfer you back to your room.”

_ Since when did I leave my room? Is there any reason why she kept me here while I was asleep?_

Before I could inquire her, Dr. Winston shined a pen torch into my eyes in an oscillating motion--right, left, right, left.

“Okay, your pupils look fine.” I heard her mutter to herself. “Can you raise your arms and move your fingers for me?” 

I followed her directions.

“Good. Can you lift each leg and wiggle your toes?”

Noticing that I was fully responsive, Dr. Winston turned her back and scrawled something on a clipboard. Then she faced me again.

“What is your name?”

“Emily.”

“Where are you from?”

“Louisville, Kentucky.”

“What year is it?”

“2013.”

_ Please stop asking me questions. Do you even know how much my right jaw hurts...just from talking?_

“Alright, that’ll be all,” she apprised as though she had read my mind.

In lieu of speaking, I nodded my head in reply...and suddenly realized I was making a huge mistake. Without warning, shooting pains slashed through my right temple, promptly succeeded by severe twangs of queasiness. 

Something sloshed and churned in my esophagus. I emitted a deep, guttural groan while clasping a hand on my mouth.

Dr. Winston speedily grabbed an empty container nearby, holding it in front of me as I leaned forward and projectile vomited. My abdominal muscles contracted perpetually as I continued to heave into the container--until there was nothing left. Finally, I stopped retching and quickly gasped for air, my whole body bathed in sweat.

_ I’ve never felt anything like this before...the pain...oh, the excruciating pain! I can’t stand it any longer..._

I started screeching in agony.

Startled by my outburst, Dr. Winston gently placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. “Hey, it’s okay. Come on, deep breaths.” 

“I can’t,” I whimpered, my voice choked with sobs. “Please...make this pain stop.”

“Emily, I understand you’re in a lot of pain, but I need you to calm down.” Her consolatory expression hardened. “Any unnecessary stress could put you at a higher risk of dehiscence--a surgical complication in which your incision separates...and we don’t want that to happen. Now, in the meantime, I’m going to give you some pain medication through your IV. You’ll need to wait several minutes for it to take effect, but it’s the best I can do for now. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” I coughed.

Looking askance to my right, I could see Dr. Winston cradling a syringe in her hand, thumb pushing down on its plunger to release the painkiller into my IV catheter.

I continued to lay still, not daring to move even an ounce of my body.

Gradually, my muscles relaxed as the pain subsided to a dull ache. A ripple of drowsiness overtook me, and I began to doze off--but not before I was transiently pervaded with..._euphoria._

It wasn’t just any euphoria; it was one that stemmed from an achievement of sorts. Despite the mental chaos due to my amnesia, constantly losing track of where I was or what had happened, there was one thing that was clear at this point: I had conquered my fear of surgery and survived its aftermath. However, that wasn't all. There was something else that stood out to me: my dreams. I had remembered them clearly, down to every minuscule detail. But why was that? Was there something significant about them? Were they trying to tell me something?

I was about to find out very soon.

***

Sunbeams filtered through the partially closed blinds and painted the walls with vivid stripes. The birds outside twittered their lively melodies, contrasting the heavy quietness that perfused the antiseptic, indoor air. A sense of tranquility resided in me as I immersed myself in what little tunes and sunlight seeped into my room--the one I had stayed in when I was first taken to the hospital.

_ How much time has passed since then? Two days? No, it definitely felt much longer than that._

Carefully propelling myself upright, I reached over to the overbed table and grabbed my journal, vaguely remembering why I wanted to use it. 

From the beginning, it was evident that my memory lapses would eventually erase my consciousness altogether. The moment I first laid my hands on the journal, I had made it a priority to utilize it for the purpose of timekeeping. If I could at least record my experiences and know precisely on which days they occurred, maybe--just maybe--it would be possible to hamper my memories from consigning to oblivion.

With those thoughts in mind, I lifted the front cover and glanced at the first page. There were two tally marks so far. I hadn’t touched my journal since...I saw _“4/21” _printed in the top-left corner...4/22. I unplugged my phone that was charging right next to where my journal had been. 

Its display screen lit up: _11:23 AM Sunday, April 26._ Beneath the date, there was a sensitive notification. 

_ Oh great. How can I forget to check my messages? That’s never happened before..._

I unlocked my phone to reveal its home screen...and my breath caught in my throat. I blinked several times and stared. 

_ No way. Am I seeing this wrong?_

I wasn’t. The letters and numbers flashed conspicuously against the white background.

_ Notification: 57 new messages._

I let out a sigh of vexation.

_ What’s with social media these days? Why can’t people just leave me alone?_

I collected my thoughts for a second...then a realization struck me. 

_ So everyone saw what happened to me during PE class and are probably concerned about my health. But...what if my incident was broadcasted on the school’s morning announcements? I’d better hope that’s not the case. If the school disclosed any information regarding my diagnosis, what would my friends think of me? _

I pushed aside those thoughts and picked up my journal again, opening it to the first page. _“4/21”...the date...it’s so familiar..._

I silently counted on my fingers. Six. It had been six days since I was first admitted to the hospital.

_ So, it wasn’t two days...not even close. How can I be so wrong?_

Attempting to rid myself of frustration, I shook my head firmly...but all it did was aggravate the pain on my surgical site. A sharp sibilance fled my lips as I waited for the splitting headache to abate. 

When the pain ceased, I took out my pen, added four more tally marks, and placed my journal back on the table. 

My phone was still sitting on my lap. Curiosity drove my fingers to turn it on and open my messages. Several rows of bolded texts popped up on the screen, all unread. 

_ Oh god, they’re my friends. How do they all know about my seizures if they’re not in my fifth period PE class? Maybe some classmates who recognized me told them about it. Still, I should read my messages to make sure._

I tapped on Katie’s messages:

_ APR 21 AT 3:23 PM_

_ Katie: OMG, are u okay?_

_ APR 21 AT 5:37 PM_

_ Katie: Are u awake now? Answer me._

_ Katie: Plz answer me!!!_

My thumbs flew over the keyboard:

_ Me: Don’t worry about me. Just had surgery. I’m fine now :) _

Of course, that’s not true. Not when I knew I had terminal cancer. But I wasn’t ready to let anyone know about it; there’s no way I’m going to let my illness ruin my reputation.

Next, I perused Judy’s messages:

_ APR 21 AT 3:22 PM_

_ Judy: Are you okay?!_

_ APR 21 AT 4:17 PM_

_ Judy: Emily, are you awake? _

_ Judy: TELL ME! _

_ Judy: Oh don’t tell me you’re dead! Please, no!_

_ APR 22 AT 8:04 AM_

_ Judy: Wait, nevermind. Sorry if I sounded too panicked. Maddie told me you’re alright._

_ APR 24 AT 12:33 PM_

_ Judy: Oh yea speaking of her, she seems a bit off lately..._

_ Judy: Like kinda sad or something. And I didn’t see her eat anything at lunch today._

My heart froze. 

_ Wait...what happened to Madeleine? Why is she sad? And why was Judy in my fifth period PE class? Doesn’t she have it during third period?_

Thoughts invaded my brain, hurting it even further. Yet, I couldn’t resist the temptation to read the rest of my messages. 

I scrolled down some more and saw the names of my other friends: _Eva, Amber, Heather, Eric, and..._

..._Clara._

My thumb hovered over her profile picture...and stopped when I heard the door open. Putting down my phone, I darted a cursory glance at the figure standing in the doorway.

“Maddie?” I called out.

“Hey, Emily,” she replied, sauntering towards a chair that was next to my bed. Studying her face, she wore her usual smile, which supposedly meant she was fine, but something behind her eyes told me I was wrong. 

All of a sudden, I felt my blood running cold. 

Her eyes had lost their spark. In their place were dull, brown orbs that seemed to hold..._nothingness._ Dark bags hung underneath them as if she hadn’t slept in days. 

“Emily?”

I snapped out of my daze. “Sorry, was there something you wanted to tell me?”

“I...I missed you so much. I’m just...so relieved to know that you’re alright.” Tears started welling up in her eyes.

“I know, I missed you too,” I whispered back.

“Yeah...it’s just that...” Madeleine paused briefly to regain her composure. “I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you, even if it was only for three days. I was so scared you wouldn’t make it out alive.”

_ Something is horribly wrong. I’ve never seen Madeleine like this before. She has always been a happy, carefree person. For all three years of our friendship, never once did I see her look so...depressed. _

“Is this about my...surgery?”

She nodded languidly, a few stray tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. I heard her stifle a sob before she spoke up again, her voice laced with sorrow. “Well, it’s not just that.”

“What is it?"

“I...I...” Madeleine struggled to get her words out. Instead, she slowly rolled up her shorts...

...and I couldn’t believe what I saw.


	9. Still Hiding Something

** _ ***Trigger Warning*** _ **

** _ The beginning of this chapter will discuss sensitive topics, and there's a bit of graphic content involved. If you are easily triggered by these topics, please proceed with caution. _ **

* * *

I drew in a sharp breath, my hands involuntarily cupping over my mouth. Tears started burning behind my eyes, which were riveted to the angry, crimson slits that scarred Madeleine’s thighs.

For a split second, I wished I could go back in time and unsee everything--but, of course, that was impossible. The image had already clung to my mind, torturing it ruthlessly and forcing my eyes to shed its tears.

Madeleine, who was dismayed by my reaction, hastily pulled her shorts back down to shroud her self-inflicted wounds.

_ No...she didn't do this to herself...it’s all in my head, right?_

Realizing I had been holding my breath the whole time, I expelled it in short, sporadic bursts, all the while refusing to acknowledge what had just unfolded before my eyes.

“Why...” I uttered, the word barely egressing my mouth. “Why did you...”

Madeleine began to sob harder. “I-I’m sorry, Emily. I c-couldn’t help it.”

Her words, innocuous by all means, provoked a storm of repentance. _You told Madeleine about your surgery, remember? Now look at what you made her do?! _As those thoughts obtruded into my mind, the guilt I had felt earlier gave way to rage, escalating with each passing second.

“This is all my goddamn fault,” I blurted, an invidious edge to my voice. "I shouldn't have told you anything about my surgery. If I had kept quiet, none of this would’ve happened!”

“No, Emily!" Madeleine cried. "Don’t say that! It’s not your fault."

"Then whose else could it be? Yours? I doubt it.”

"You're not wrong,” she confessed bluntly. “I'm the one who can't control myself and deal with my own emotions properly...that’s how it’s always been."

The moment her words sunk in, I felt the arrant aversion wither away, just enough for me to steady my voice. "You've...you’ve done this before?” 

Madeleine brushed away her tears and composed herself. "Honestly...yeah. If I remember correctly, I believe this is my...fourth relapse.”

“Fourth relapse?” I ingeminated, slightly taken aback. 

Madeleine averted her eyes in discomfiture. “Yeah," she admitted hesitantly.

“When...how di-did it all start?” I stumbled over my words.

"I don’t really remember when it started...but it was definitely before I met you in fifth grade. As to how it started though...it’s kind of complicated to explain.” By the looks on her face, I could tell she was getting uncomfortable again. “Maybe I’ll just tell you another time.”

_ And when will “another time” be? Will you still be alive by the time she decides to tell you? _I suppressed the instinct to shudder; it was disturbing, listening to my inner voice conjure up memories concerning my diagnosis.

“That’s fine...you know, I’m always here if you need to tell me anything,” I said slowly, mincing my words. “But...how come you’ve never told me about this until now?"

Madeleine shifted her gaze back to me. “Well...that’s because I know something you’ve been hiding from me these past few weeks, so I just thought I’d share my secret with you to make this fair.” Her tone was somehow void of accusation.

“Huh? What makes you think that?” I parried.

“Don’t lie. I know you’ve been having migraines lately.”

A shockwave coursed through me. “Wait, how did you know that? Did my mom tell you?”

“No, it was Dr. Lowry.”

“What? How did he know you were here?”

“Well, actually, I ran into him while I was trying to find you at first...and he wanted to ask me some questions.”

“What did he ask? What did the two of you talk about?”

Madeleine looked up towards the ceiling, as if in deep thought...

***

_5 days ago (4/21), 4:28 PM..._

Clicking the pen, Dr. Lowry reviewed the list he had jotted down seconds ago, his forehead corrugating in concentration. “Well, from what you’ve told me, there is almost no doubt that these symptoms are due to brain tumours,” he finally posited.

Madeleine’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “What?! That can’t be! Emily’s too young to have...”

“Madeleine, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but, frankly, this is one of those conditions that most commonly occur in children and older adults.” He sighed wearily, then lifted his eyes. “However, not all tumours are classified as malignant.”

“What does that mean?” 

“In other words, they’re not necessarily cancerous. Only about one-third of them are considered as such.”

"But how will you know for sure if they're cancerous or not?"

"Well, certainly, a cranial MRI scan can be very useful in evaluating brain tumours, and I feel it’s best to get them checked out as soon as possible. In fact, I'd like to schedule an MRI screening for her at the earliest time available tomorrow.”

Just when his words entered Madeleine’s ears, she suddenly sensed a faint glimmer of hope thriving within her--a faint possibility that Emily might be okay after all. “Yeah, I’ll let her know ahead of time.”

“Sounds good. Well, I think we’ve covered most of what we needed to discuss, and I know her current situation," Dr. Lowry notified. "Speaking of which, is there anything else you’d like to add with regards to that? Perhaps, any other symptoms Emily might’ve experienced leading up to the tryouts?”

“Actually...yes,” Madeleine answered irresolutely.

Dr. Lowry quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so? Can you tell me about it?”

“It’s just that she looked really pale...and--I don’t know...it seemed like she was having some sort of...headache.”

“And when did this occur?” 

“During lunch.”

“So, at least a couple hours before the tryouts?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, let me just make sure I got the facts right...you said that Emily was looking pale and that she was having headaches a few hours prior to the tryouts. Am I correct?”

Madeleine nodded.

“Okay,” Dr. Lowry replied as he pulled out another sheet from Emily’s folder. “Now, I see from her blood tests that she has dangerously high levels of acetaminophen--an active ingredient in migraine pills.” 

All the color seemed to drain from Madeleine’s face. “Are you trying to say that...Emily overdosed?”

“Yes...but luckily, it didn’t exceed 200 μ g/mL; otherwise, she could’ve done some serious damage to her liver,” he stressed soberly. “Stepping back a bit, if you don't mind, do you know if Emily has been having headaches recently, aside from what you witnessed earlier?"

Madeleine strained to recollect any signs that could have indicated Emily’s headache, but none came up. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Okay, I see. Well, for your information, she presented to the emergency room several weeks ago with a severe migraine attack. After prescribing a painkiller for her, she proclaimed in her first follow-up appointment that it had gone away completely. I haven’t heard from her since then, assuming her migraine was acute and that she had been cleared for the tryouts--which obviously wasn't the case.”

“I mean, I’m sure Emily wasn’t honest about her health when she filled out her athletic forms. She even _lied_ to you,” Madeleine asserted, inwardly shocked at her own disparagement towards her best friend.

“Exactly,” Dr. Lowry agreed, “which is why I’m not surprised she was eligible for the tryouts. Unfortunately, there’s only so much we can do, and, ultimately, we’re not the ones making decisions for her. Essentially, we can’t talk her out of participating in the tryouts because, you know, young people like her will do anything to get what they want, regardless of the consequences.” 

“I understand, Dr. Lowry,” Madeleine replied, feeling a sudden need to mentally reconcile with Emily. “But I can also understand why she chose to prioritize her basketball tryouts over her health--or anything else, for that matter. You see, she always wanted to compete with other basketball teams, and the tryouts was her only chance...”

“Yeah, that’s too bad. At least she still has next year, assuming her tumours aren’t cancerous and that she’s still in good shape.”

“Hopefully.”

Having spoken that word, Madeleine’s eyes stealthily drifted towards the door.

“So...um, are we done with our discussion yet? May I go see Emily now?”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Just take the elevators to the third floor, walk straight down the hallway, and Room 357 will be on your left,” Dr. Lowry informed her.

Madeleine quickly thanked him before absenting herself from his office, knowing that their conversation was nothing short of an epiphany.

***

_Present (4/26), 11:34 AM..._

“Umm, can you answer my question?”

Madeleine jerked her head back down. “Sorry, what were you asking?”

“What did you and Dr. Lowry talk about?” I asked again.

“Oh, that...” Madeleine prevaricated tersely. “I simply told him that you were having seizures and that you scratched yourself.”

“Scratched myself? Wait--” _...a sudden tingling sensation disseminated throughout my right arm._

“Maddie, I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’ve been having dreams about missing my shots...and making an airball. But how is that even possible if it’s never happened to me before?”

“Emily...they’re not ordinary dreams. It’s like they’re trying to tell you something...” _Just what I thought._ “...everything happens for a reason.”

“What do you mean by that?” I frowned.

“You had a memory lapse after having seizures, so I think your brain is subconsciously trying to bring back your memories through dreaming. You know, just like how traumas induce nightmares.” 

“Umm...okay, I think I understand what you’re trying to say...but I still don’t get _what_ memories I’m missing.”

“Hey, I think your mom is here,” Madeleine interposed, pointing in the direction where Mom meandered through the doorway, her heels producing rhythmic, clacking noises.

“I’m back, sweetie. Sorry it took so long...the church services ran over time today. Oh and--” Mom turned towards my friend. “--Madeleine, you’re here quite early. What brings you here?”

“Hi, Mrs. Miller,” Madeleine greeted, giving her a small wave. “I just wanted to stop by and talk to Emily about a few things. But I think I’ll be heading out soon.”

I felt my phone buzz in my lap. _Hmm? Did Katie reply to--_

“Alright. Well, I’m glad you came over...” Mom’s voice intervened my thoughts.

I unlocked my phone once more, eyeballing a new message from..._Clara?_

“...coming after school tomorrow, so I’ll see...” My ears only caught a few of Madeleine’s words as my mind focused on what was displayed in front of me. 

Opening Clara’s messages, I failed to notice that Madeleine had already left the room. “Honey, you forgot to say ‘bye’ to Madeleine.”  
“I know. Sorry, Mom,” I said, peeling my eyes away from the screen and glimpsing her face. “Hold on, I just need to text someone back.”

Glancing back down at the chat forum, I read Clara’s message.

_ APR 21 AT 3:31 PM_

_ Clara: You didn’t think you’d fail, loser?_

Huh? Fail at what? Then I realized what she meant when I saw her newest message: a video link. 

Unbeknownst to me were the contents of the video itself. The answer to all my questions from the past several days condensed into one, succinct report. The trigger that would erode my sanity in days to come. The exact moment I could pinpoint when my life spiraled downhill from here.

"Hey, I'm going to grab some lunch right now, but I should be back soon. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I responded absentmindedly as I tapped on the link...

I wish I hadn't. 


End file.
